


Untitled.

by Larry_say_relax



Category: The Strokes
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, Juliangst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:48:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larry_say_relax/pseuds/Larry_say_relax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Julian hurts, he runs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled.

  
On the first day, he ran. He had a habit of leaving his apartment when he was upset to the point where familiar things only upset him. Last time he’d run to the Ritz and he’d subsisted on the contents of the mini-bar while watching cable TV from the queen-size bed. This time he ran to a grimy hotel in Soho with nicotine-yellowed curtains and a payphone in the lobby that seemed to growl instead of ring. He brought a bottle of Wild Turkey and a few packs of smokes and the clothes on his back and nothing more. He locked the door and he sat down on the edge of the bed (which groaned with even the slightest movement), turned on the TV and began to drink.   
  
When he woke up he was on the bathroom floor. It was dark except for the flicker coming from the television and he sat up slowly, wiping the crust of vomit from his chin and the corner of his mouth. He climbed to his feet shakily and pissed into the toilet, leaning with one hand on the tank. He made his way back to the bed without bothering to flush and spotted the nearly empty bottle of Wild Turkey on the floor.   
  
He drained it then lay back, closing his eyes. He tried to block the words that were reverberating in his head to no avail. He kept hearing Nick, over and over again. Even worse, he kept hearing his own words. He crushed his palms into his eyes and bit his lip hard then sat up quickly. He yanked on his shoes and left in search of another bottle. He needed to shut his brain up.   
  
When he woke again he was in bed and the sunlight streamed in piss-yellow through the curtains. The sheets were wet and stank of cheap gin. He scooted over to a dry area, kicked off his damp jeans and pulled off his shirt and burrowed back into the pillow. It felt stiff and uncomfortable against his skin. His stomach twisted and lurched, aching for food, but he ignored it. He didn’t want to eat. He wanted to sleep. He wanted blank black nothingness.   
  
The gin was gone- he’d spilled what he hadn’t managed to drink and his frustration at this gave him the push he needed to let go. He began to cry. He cried until his throat was hoarse and sore, until he was so exhausted he couldn’t move to roll over. He laid there, the tears drying and making his face feel tight, and wondered what Nick was doing right now. Was he home? Had he tried to call? Had he even noticed that he, Julian, was gone? He heard Nick again in his head and his chest heaved.   
  
_"You don’t even care enough to tell your fuckin’ mother about us. You’re fuckin’ embarrassed, aren’t you? You’re a coward, Julian. I don’t want to be with a fuckin’ coward. Get your shit and get out."_   
  
It was the second day but it felt like the second year. He chain-smoked and ate some Cheetos from the vending machine in the lobby. He ran a bath but didn’t bother to actually get in it. He kept putting it off until the water went cold then drained the tub. He kept getting out of bed and sitting in the saggy puke-green chair by the window, only to get back up and crawl back into bed again. He hugged the floppy shapeless pillow to him and closed his eyes, running the same fake scenario in his head over and over. The one where they hadn’t fought at all, the one where he’d been able to say of course they could go to his mom’s for the holiday, of course she knew about them, of course she was happy for them.   
  
In all honesty, Julian didn’t even know why he hadn’t told her. He was sure she wouldn’t care. She might be shocked but she loved Nick. She’d always loved him. Nick was the friend she’d always kissed when she tucked them both in on Friday nights. Nick was the kid who always went home with a brown bag packed tight with cookies and sweets because he was so skinny she said it hurt to look at him. Nick was always the friend she asked about first, even though he’d known Nikolai longer and she was close with his parents.   
  
He should’ve just lied and called her up first chance he’d had but that hadn’t occurred to him then. He’d decided to be honest. Bad move. Nick had been furious. His parents knew all about them. They’d had Nick and Julian over for dinner-as a couple- and Nick hadn’t shown any reticence in kissing him in their home. He’d slipped his arms around Julian’s hips in the kitchen from behind and leaned down to brush his lips over his ear then moved them lower to kiss the side of his neck. Julian had been drying dishes while Mrs. V. washed. She’d taken the plate from his hand and laughed.   
  
_“Nicholas, stop that. They need his full attention. These are my good dishes.”_   
  
Julian moaned miserably. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to keep thinking about how he’d hurt him. He crushed the pillow to his chest and imagined he was at Nick’s, in Nick’s bed, with Nick in his arms instead of a shitty wilted pillow with no shape.   
  
_“I don’t need this shit. I don’t need you. This whole thing was a mistake. It shouldn’t‘ve gone on this long. All this’s been is a fuck that went on for too long. Fuck this. I’m out. Don’t call me.”_   
  
Nick’s eyes had gone cold. He’d seen that look so many times and he’d always dreaded the day that Nick would look that way at him. It was a look of complete flat disinterest.   
  
_“Get your shit and get out.”_   
  
Whiskey sounded good right now. A whole lot of whiskey. And beer. He needed beer. Beer would help, he was certain.

  
On the third day he wasn’t shitting solid anymore. It ran out of him like an incessant stream of murky water. The case of beer he’d bought the day before was gone. The whiskey bottle was half filled with cigarette butts. There was an empty Pringles can in the garbage and directly on top of it were the regurgitated contents of said can. His body hadn’t wanted that, or at least not such a large amount all at once. It had clenched and tensed and forced the food up within moments of the last mouthful being swallowed. He’d eaten it so quickly he hadn’t tasted it, had only barely registered the sharp edges scraping against and cutting into the roof of his mouth as he’d wolfed them down.   
  
His fingertips were a sickening orange from smoking and the grime under his nails was black. His scalp itched and when he scratched flakes of dandruff drifted down to his shoulders. The muscles in his thighs kept cramping up as he lay on the bed listlessly. He hadn’t been on a bender in a long while- since he and Nick had finally hooked up, in fact. That had been over 5 months ago. In those 5 months he’d gone back to drinking for fun and he’d stopped sleeping around. Where before he’d figured getting caught was part of the thrill, suddenly he was too afraid of losing what he had to cheat. He’d thought about how he’d feel if he found out Nick had cheated on him and the rage he’d felt building in him had scared him. For the first time in his life he was with someone who he put before himself at all times.   
  
He lay there, letting the hot tears roll down his cheeks. It felt like he wasn’t ever going to quit crying. He was far past the weeping stage. The tears just leaked out now, almost as if they belonged to someone else. He was sprawled belly-down on the bed, his head at the bottom. He reached down to the floor and picked up a warm can of beer. He popped the tab and took a large swallow. Immediately he felt it coming back up. He reached for the trashcan and retched, sweat jumping out on his upper lip and beading his forehead. He dropped the can into the wastebasket unhappily.   
  
He decided that maybe he just needed some air so he dressed slowly and trekked to the ratty neighborhood bar across the street. He was by far the youngest patron in attendance and he was also the only non-regular. A sarcastic comment about his hygiene was all it took to provoke a swinging fist. Luckily for him his appearance and his weakened physical state were sad enough that instead of thrashing him within an inch of his life he was simply given a few good smacks and tossed out, and even then someone eventually came out to see if he had someplace to go home to. The guy reminded him of Albert’s dad a little in that he had a contagious smile and a bounce in his step. He reminded him of Albert, too.  
  
He begged the fellow to walk with him down to the corner, to wait for him outside while he purchased a gallon of Nikolai vodka and smokes. He also bought a pack of hot fries and some beef jerky, three $2 scratch-off lottery tickets and a bottle of Maalox. He stumbled back to the hotel, the man from the bar helping him along and leaving him at the lobby door.  
  
He collapsed in the saggy green chair and swore miserably as he realized he hadn’t bought anything to mix the vodka with. He drank slowly but steadily, the burn subsiding in his throat and chest as he put away shot after shot. Again he wolfed the food he’d bought. This time it stayed down, so desperate was his body for sustenance.   
That was the day he passed out with the lit cigarette between his fingers. His luck held-when he unconsciously dropped it, both his fingers badly burned, it landed in the trashcan. The beer he’d ditched had fallen sideways and saturated everything inside enough that nothing was able to ignite. His head lolled. The TV flickered. He dreamt about making love with Nick. His thighs and fingers twitched as he touched DreamNick rapturously. Stomach cramps woke him. The beef jerky balled him up and he’d moaned on the toilet, twisted and bent over his knees.   
  
On the fourth day he dragged himself to the lobby and pushed two quarters into the coin slot. He punched in the numbers and slumped against the wall. He knew Fab would know it was him even though it was an unfamiliar number. He always called Fab first. It only rang one and a half times before he picked up, his voice tense.   
  
“Julian?”   
  
“Hey Fabulous. What’s up?” Julian’s voice was tired, emotionless.  
  
“Julian where the fuck are you, dude? Everyone’s freakin’ the fuck out!”   
  
Julian closed his eyes and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. His voice broke when he spoke again.  
  
“Fab, can you come get me? I don’t wanna stay here anymore. I wanna go home.”   
  
Fab spoke slowly, his voice gentle. He sounded as if he was speaking to a frightened wounded animal. In his mind, this was exactly what he was doing.   
  
“Where are you? Me and Nick are coming to get you.”   
  
Julian tensed.   
  
“I don’t wanna see him. Don’t bring him with you.”   
  
_Liar. Liarliarliar._ All he wanted was to see him. His chest ached and throbbed because he wanted to see him so badly.   
  
“Jules, you know he didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean what he said. He told me everything. Tell me where you are.”   
  
“I’m in Soho.”   
  
“I need a name. Or an address, Ju.”   
  
Julian frowned.   
  
“I forget.”   
  
Fab’s voice remained even.   
  
“What’s it near?”   
  
“There’s a bar across the street. Mickels. It has a fireman’s hat on the sign.”   
  
“Gimme the number on the phone.”

Julian groans.  
  
“There isn’t one. Didn’t the number come up?   
  
Fab sighed.   
  
“No, it just says unknown number. Forget it. You remember your room number?”   
  
Julian nodded even though he knew Fab couldn’t see him.   
  
“17.”   
  
“Sit tight Ju, we’re leaving now.”   
  
Julian trudged back to his room. He sat in the saggy green chair. He sniffed at his armpit and wondered if he should brush his teeth. He didn’t get up. He dozed off, snoring lightly for the better part of an hour. When Fab rapped hard on the door Julian wasn’t sure what was going on. His eyes opened and he blinked blearily. He wasn’t sure what had woken him until he heard Fab’s voice.   
  
“Jules, if you don’t open up I’ll get the guy in the lobby to do it for me.” There was murmuring and he recognized the timbre of Nick’s voice even if he couldn’t hear the words. He stood shakily and plodded to the door and unlocked it. It swung open and the first thing he saw was Nick’s face change from concerned to stunned.   
Julian words were slurred.   
  
_“It’s only $22 a night.”_  
  
Nick reached for him and in that same instant Julian’s vision went darkish. He understood the term ‘seeing spots’ right then, because it all went kind of patchy. He felt a cold sweat break over him and his legs went weak. He was vaguely aware of Nick’s chest, of his scent, of his arms encircling him. He felt long strong fingers working through his hair, soothing him. He was on the bed now, his head was in Nick’s lap and Fab was in the lobby, settling up. Then Fab must have come back without him noticing because he was speaking again.   
  
“You know, that’s probably the only stuff he’s had to eat the past few days.”   
  
Nick’s voice sounded so sad when he spoke.   
  
“How much weight do you think he dropped? Jesus, can we get the fuck out of here? It stinks like puke. Fuck, Fab, you think I could help him get in the shower?”   
  
A cool wet cloth on his face felt better than it should have and he opened his eyes again, took in Nick’s face. A gentle touch smoothed his hair back from his forehead.   
  
“You hungry, baby? You look so hungry.” Nick’s voice was so soft and so tender that it made him want to bawl.  
  
But instead he just nodded.   
  
“Can we go home?”  
  
Nick swallowed hard and whispered.  
  
“We can go anywhere you want. Just tell me what you want, okay?”  
  
Julian’s eyes slid shut. Later all he would remember of the ride home was that Nick sat in the back with him, holding him close. And that he didn’t cry.


End file.
